Good as New

In our quest to become a bike riding family, I took our bikes in for a tune up.

The tattooed cyclist, his arms inked with vines of roses from his wrists to his armpits, who was working in his socks today, looked at mine and said, “Ma’am, this bike looks brand new.”

Well, I’ve had it for twelve years. Apparently I’ve kept it in my bedroom closet.

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